He Searched
by Hyaci
Summary: Every day, all the time, even when the others made fun of him for it, he searched.


My first oneshot! Please read and review!

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At first, he doesn't know what he's looking for. It's been a year since he's started to look, but he hasn't found it, and he doesn't know what it is. His girlfriend, Ginny, tells him, begs him to give up, but he can't, he just can't, and he doesn't know why.

His only lead is a piece of loose leaf piece of binder paper, with faded words on it, words that may have once been legible, but can no longer be read due to a year of mishandling. Not that it'd been in good shape before he got it, anyway: it'd been ruined by big wet splotches on the paper that he half suspected were tears.

Ron, his best friend doesn't know why he's still looking. He has a girlfriend, nice grades, and lots of money, Ron says, why does he have to look? Why can't he just be happy at Hogwarts with Ginny, spending their unlimited galleons on whatever strikes their fancy?

Because he's haunted, that's why. He's haunted by what it is he's looking for- he doesn't know if it's a boy or a girl or a cat or a dog. Sometimes he'll catch flashes in his dreams, like lustrous brown curls, or emotive chocolate eyes, but he always is frustrated when he awakens, because that's all they are: flashes.

He hasn't given up the search yet, since every time he tries to, he'd awaken from a dream- a dream, not a normal dream, but one with one of _those_ elusive flashes. Always, when he'd try to bury it, it'd somehow resurface, whether he's in his bed with the woman he loves, or if he's looking steadily at the Maurader's Map, hoping that somehow, whatever it is that he's been looking for will just pop up- out of a sudden, from nowhere, spontaneously. He doesn't know why, but he'd always spent more time looking at the tiny illustration that represented the library than anywhere else, as if what he wanted to find was irrevocably tied to that location.

Ginny and Ron talk about him behind his back, but he doesn't know. They sneer at his single-minded devotedness to something he'd lost, something precious that he'd never have again, because they can't understand. It's in the past, something he couldn't completely recall, so why bother dredging it up again? The past is the past, no time like the present.

When he's doing something else, he's still subconsciously looking. He may not know it, but Quidditch isn't just Quidditch anymore. It's a chance for him to fly above the clouds to search, searching even when he should be enjoying his life, his hobbies. It's why he blows half the practice matches, because he's gone off searching. He doesn't blow off the real matches, although he's sorely tempted to. Because every minute he doesn't look is a moment wasted.

Even in class, when he should be paying attention, he's still busy looking. When McGonagall, or Flitwick, or Snape asks a question, he half expects, half hopes that a hand will fly up, and a long mound of bushy hair will turn. But when a hand does go up, or when there is bushy hair, he just knows, just gets the feeling that something isn't right.

At home, during the summer, the Dursley family can tell he's changed. And unconsciously, they've changed along with him. When he picks at his dinner, but doesn't really eat anything, his Aunt will look on in worry. His uncle will pretend nothing's wrong, but will think to himself, Is he still looking? And his cousin, even the pig that he is, can't eat as well as usual with this much tension in the house. The Dursleys haven't gotten fond of him- quite the contrary. They just can't help but feel how despondent he is, and it's starting to affect them too.

Once in a while, he'll find himself writing a letter, a letter that no one he knew would understand, but out there, he can't quite recall, someone _would_. Someone kind and understanding would have said to him, _Harry, what's bothering you? Oh, I see. I'll look something up, but you better owl Dumbledore just in case._

But he can't quite bring himself to ever mail these letters, because even though he doesn't know who they're addressed to, Hedwig would. He gets the feeling that Hedwig has carried mail to him or her or it before, and he's afraid that if he sends out those letters to the one thing he can't remember, his owl will come back to him, because she can't find that lost memory anymore.

Sometimes, he'll start off the day having completely forgotten. Then, he'll go to breakfast, and remember what exactly prepares breakfast at Hogwarts. He doesn't know why, but he knows that somehow, even that is interrelated to what he's looking for. And sometimes, he'll remember a splinter, a glimmer, but never the whole thing. It's always just tantalizingly out of reach.

Every time he can't understand his homework, he'll turn around and ask the empty air what to do. As though it would answer him, which he would then remember it wouldn't, not ever since he'd started looking. Started to search for something that meant more to him than everything. And when the air wouldn't answer, he'd get a wave of loneliness, as if something he'd had since… forever was, well, gone. As if he'd taken something for granted, and now just couldn't have, even if he wanted to. And he did want to- but he'd have to hide what he wanted around Ginny and Ron.

And then, one day out of the blue, it returned to him. Every soft breath, every understanding touch, every word of advice, every argument, every time they'd made up with each other, every lingering looks, every feeling of guilt for betraying their friends, every time her breathing became frenzied and labored, her name, it all came back to him in a rush.

Hermione.


End file.
